


No Medicine Like Hope

by Aedemiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 12, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, F/F, F/M, M/M, Until Episode 7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-25 07:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17721002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aedemiel/pseuds/Aedemiel
Summary: Castiel runs into an old acquaintance of the Winchesters when searching for Sam. Who is this mysterious character she claims to work for, whose online presence is known in the hunter community but nobody knows who they really are. When the Winchesters follow the breadcrumbs they leave to a case in Pennsylvania, what they find there starts a whole chain of events they cannot control.





	1. Chapter One

Cas stalked out of the real estate office in frustration. The realtor had been less than helpful, eying the angel with a skeptical look that if he was honest with himself, he couldn’t really blame her for. All these years walking the earth and he was still barely capable of passing as human. Elevating that to masquerading as an FBI agent was a tall order and he knew it. Still, she didn’t need to be insulting. What was wrong with Agent Beyonce as a name anyway? Sam and Dean used popular musicians names as pseudonyms all the time.

A hand landed on his arm and he pulled it away in alarm, whirling around and readying himself to fight. But the shortish blonde woman who gave him a nervous smile did not seem to be an immediate threat.

“Can I help you?” he said, wondering if she was going to ask for directions. Humans did that a lot, he’d noticed. Or the time. What _was_ their obsession with knowing the hour?

“Castiel, right?” she said and all of Cas’s senses went on alert. He shifted into a better stance for fighting. Nobody should know he was here, that this unobtrusive young woman had instantly recognized him was not good news. He studied her blonde hair neatly formed into a French pleat and took in the well-tailored suit. She held herself with an air of someone who knew what they were about. “My name is Becky Rosen. We’ve never met, but I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Cas frowned at her in consternation. Who would have talked to this human about him? None of the answers he could think of were good. “You were Chuck’s girlfriend,” he said, remembering. It was odd, thinking of his father as Chuck, and odder thinking of him having a girlfriend.

She smiled at him, evidently pleased he knew who she was. “That’s right. A long time ago.”

“What do you want, Becky?” Cas asked her.

“I was sent with a message for you,” she told him. “The place you’re looking for is a farm, about three miles from here.” She handed him a map printed out from the internet. Scrawled on it in red Sharpie were the words, SAM IS HERE, and a big arrow.

“Where did you get this?” Cas said sharply. She gave him an uncertain look and Cas’s sense of unease grew.

“A lot’s changed since Chuck and I parted ways,” she said. “I found my purpose. And this is part of it.”

“That’s not an answer,” Cas pointed out.

“I work for Orison. That’s all you need to know,” she replied. “Be well, Castiel. Go rescue Sam.” She turned and started walking away. Cas watched her leave and considered the map in his hands. He didn’t know whether to trust it or not. Becky had a less than stellar history with the Winchesters. He resolved to investigate it on his own before letting Dean know about it.

* * *

 

Becky watched Castiel study the map and then turn and enter the real estate agent next door to the one he’d just emerged from. She smiled, pleased with her success. She grabbed her phone from the small purse on her arm and dialed the number she had memorized.

“Becky. Did you find him?”

“Yes. He looked exactly as you described. I gave him the map and it seems to have put him on the trail.”

“Good work. Did… did he say anything?”

Orison sounded tense, she thought. “About what?”

“About Sam. Or Dean. Or even himself.”

“No, not really,” Becky said. “I mean, he recognized my name. But he was pretty wary of me.”

“Of course, he would be. You’ve done well, Becky. I think you should follow him, though. The Men of Letters have a lot of magical knowledge and that place is sure to be well warded. Castiel might have trouble getting inside.”

“I will,” she said, preening slightly at the praise. Orison didn’t hand out compliments often. “Do you know a way to bypass the wards?”

“You know I do,” Orison said. “I’m sending you a sigil. Find a good tree for spellwork, Rowan, or Oak. Cedar will do, at a push. Draw on the sigil and then recite the words I’ve written underneath.”

“I can do that,” Becky said.

“Good girl.”

* * *

 

Cas felt the power of the wards on the property the moment his pickup truck got within range. He parked awkwardly at the side of the road and looked down at the information he’d managed to get from the realtor in town. Once he’d known the address he’d been interested in, it had been easy to get the particulars from the jovial realtor whose office had been next door to the first one. He pursed his lips as he recalled the conversation. Ken had been a hearty man in his early forties with dark hair and a remarkably even stripe of gray at each temple. He’d held Cas’s hand too long and made far too much eye contact for the angel’s comfort. And then he’d scribbled his cell phone on top of the property brochure, under his smiling photo, telling Cas to give him a call. The friendly wink and over-the-top smile had been really too much. He shook his head. He was getting distracted.

The farmhouse was still some distance away but Cas could see the complex wardings that protected the entire property. They had been drawn with power and skill. This had to be the place. He pulled out his cellphone and dialed Dean’s number.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean’s voice said warmly in his ear.

“I think I may have found Sam's location. It's a farm. It appears empty, but it was rented two weeks ago to a woman with an English accent.” Cas told him without preamble. He could feel Dean’s tension radiate down the line.

“Did you have a look inside?” Dean asked.

“No” Cas replied. “No, it's -- it's powerfully warded.”

“Powerfully warded? Okay, see, buddy, that was your headline right there.”

Cas shook his head and looked down at the ground in confusion. “Are we still discussing the same thing?” he asked.

Dean gave a sigh that was part exasperation and part… something else. “Where are you?”

“I'll text you the address,” Cas told him, fiddling with the phone. “Look, I--”

“Okay, got it,” Dean said, cutting him off. “I'm on my way.” The phone went dead and Cas glared at it as though it had betrayed him somehow. It would be a few hours before Dean would get to him, but that was OK. He was used to waiting for Dean. The thought made him smile. Ever since he’d first taken a vessel, he’d done quite a lot of waiting for Dean. He’d probably spend the rest of the hunter’s life waiting for him. His face fell as that thought passed through his mind, uncomfortably aware of the double meaning. He swallowed and focused on watching the farmhouse. It was important not to get sidetracked.

* * *

 

Cas heard the Impala long before it appeared, the distinctive throaty roar of the engine signaling that Dean was here. He leaned against the truck, trying to appear casual and not over-eager as the car pulled up. But when he saw Mary as she climbed out of the car, he felt a wave of consternation. Dean gave him a sheepish grin.

“Where's all this warding you mentioned?” the hunter asked.

“It's cloaked. It's very powerful,” Cas said. He knew he sounded a bit stiff but he couldn’t help it, he wasn’t comfortable yet with having Mary around. He took a deep breath he didn’t need. “You brought your mother?”

“Hello, Castiel,” Mary said brightly. “Yes, he did.” Cas looked at Dean, trying to communicate his concerns without actually saying anything, but the hunter just shrugged.

“You sure there's anyone inside?” Dean asked, peering through binoculars at the ramshackle house.

“No. Ken said the lease was handled long distance,” Cas explained. “But _someone_ warded the house, so…”

“Ken?” Dean said, a strange look on his face. Cas considered it thoughtfully, he had cataloged most of Dean’s expressions but this one he didn’t recognize. He made a mental note to ponder the matter later.

“The real estate agent,” Cas said. He handed the brochure over to Dean, who flipped through it negligently and then closed it. It was then that he noticed Ken’s number, scrawled onto the page in blue pen with a cheeky winking face underneath. Cas had thought that a rather odd thing to do at the time and it seemed to make Dean rather upset.

“What’s this?” Dean belligerently poked the writing with his finger.

“His cellphone number.” Dean’s face was grim and Cas wasn’t sure why. “He said to call him if I needed anything.”

“Oh I bet he did,” Dean grumbled. Cas stared at him, perplexed and looked at Mary for guidance. She frowned and gestured with her hands to indicate she had no idea what was going on either.

Dean shoved the paperwork back at Cas. “I'm gonna go have a closer look,” he announced. Mary started to follow him and Dean turned back to look at her.

“Mom, I got this,” he said irritably.

Mary laughed in his face. “You can keep me from driving, Dean. Not from hunting.” Dean shook his head ruefully and then looked over to Cas with a pleading look in his eye. What was he supposed to do? He cleared his throat.

“I'm locked out by the warding,” he said. “I could use the company.” Mary gave him a considering look and then backed down.

“Thanks,” Dean said, meeting Cas’s eyes with gratitude before turning on his heel. Cas swallowed as warmth filled him and watched the hunter stride away towards the house.

“What is the deal with you two?” Mary asked curiously. Cas frowned at her, not liking the blunt question or where it might lead.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he said cautiously.

“I’ve known hunters all my life,” she told him. “Some of those that hunt together are amazingly in tune. They don’t even have to speak to know what the other one is thinking. But I’ve never seen anything like you and my son.”

Cas felt cold inside. “Did he tell you I raised him from perdition? He and I have a...”

“Yes,” Mary said impatiently. “Profound bond, yada yada yada. He told me.” Cas was startled by how much like his mother Dean was. “Now spill.”

He gave her a helpless gesture. “I don’t know what you want me to say. He’s my friend. My first ever friend. I’d do anything for him. I have done many, terrible things for him. I’d die for him. I have died for him, more than once. And I’d do so again without hesitation.”

Mary nodded, apparently satisfied. “That’s what I thought,” she said.

Cas studied her, but couldn’t get a good read on what she was feeling. Dean was difficult enough to figure out and he had the bond to help him. Other humans were a closed book.

The ground vibrated with a sort of soundless explosion. “What was that?” Mary gasped.

“Dean set off a ward,” Cas said. He looked at her unhappily, knowing he was completely useless here and she was the only help Dean had.

“Don’t worry, Castiel. Of course, I’m going in after him.” He shifted uncomfortably and she smiled at him. “It’s not your fault you’re held back by the wards. Stay here and be ready. I’m gonna go rescue my boys.” She set off purposefully towards the house.

“My, isn’t she feisty?” Becky said from behind Cas. He turned to look at her.

“How are you here?” he said stupidly. She laughed at him and waved a hand at the Prius parked behind the Impala.

“Nice thing about hybrids, they’re almost completely silent at low speeds,” she told him.

Cas had no idea what that meant but it probably wasn’t important. “What do you want?”

She gave an unconcerned shrug. “Not what I want. What Orison wants. The other British Men of Letters are on their way. I can get you inside.”

“Tell me,” Cas demanded.

Becky looked around for a moment before her eyes fell on a tree by the side of the road. She walked confidently over to it and sketched a complicated sigil on it with a piece of chalk she pulled from her pocket. She muttered something under her breath and it flared red before subsiding. When she turned back to Cas, he couldn’t help but stare at her in astonishment. Neither Sam or Dean had ever mentioned Becky having any kind of power or mystical training.

“Well?” she said expectantly. “What are you waiting for?”

* * *

 

 

Cas raced over to the farmhouse, the lowered wards sparking and sizzling as he passed. Even though he was sure Mary could handle herself, anytime Dean was in danger panic would begin to beat at him relentlessly. He slammed open the door and immediately turned to the basement, where even if he couldn’t have heard Dean’s voice, the inner tug of their connection told him instinctively where he needed to go.

“Turns out this ape did read a book or two,” Dean was saying as Cas opened the door and almost threw himself down the steps. He took in the scene before him. Sam was pale and sweating and did not look good at all. Cas could smell blood, burning flesh and fear, and something else that he couldn’t identify. Dean was sporting an impressive purpling bruise on his face and instead of his usual solid if slightly bowlegged stance, was holding himself in a way that suggested he’d injured his leg somehow. On the dirty concrete floor was the unconscious form of the blonde woman who had zapped Cas out of the bunker a few nights ago. He growled as he recognized her, his protective instincts aroused, and started moving menacingly towards her.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, concern forcing his voice into a higher register. Cas turned to look at him. “What are you planning to do?”

He couldn’t help it, he was so angry that anyone had dared hurt his friends. He bared his teeth at him and Dean stepped back in alarm. Somewhere in the back of his mind, that made him unhappy but right now his wrath was blotting out everything else. He hadn’t felt rage like this in a long time, and it felt surprisingly good. Pure, almost.

“Wait,” Mary croaked, leaning against a wall with a hand at her throat and breathing raggedly. “Don’t kill her.”

“Why not?” Cas snarled, advancing on the woman once more. There was virtually no rational thought, just a mindless urge to exact bloody vengeance.

“I’d really prefer that you didn’t,” a new voice said. That brought him up short. A man stood on the basement stairs, a resigned look on his face. He was short and stocky, with a shock of dark hair and his accent suggested he was another of the British Men of Letters. He descended the final steps and sighed as he took in the scene. The woman gave a groan from the floor but the newcomer paid no attention to her. He held out a hand to Dean, who pointedly ignored it.

“I’m Mick. What you were told is basically true. We were keen on knowing about the two of you, seeing as you seem to be partially carrying on the Men of Letters' work here now that the American chapter is defunct.” The blonde struggled to her feet and eyed Cas warily.

“So you sic your attack dog on us to what, say hi?” Dean snapped.

The man spread his hands expressively. “Well, part of our group suspect some kind of malfeasance amongst you American Hunters. No argument -- Lady Bevell went too far. I deeply apologize.” Lady Bevell was it? Cas would remember her name and as he met her eye, he could see she knew it. Sam shook his head incredulously and made a derisive sound.

“She'll face consequences in London.”

Cas had no intention of letting this man take away the woman who’d hurt his family. He turned to see Dean had shifted into a more combative stance, injuries be damned.

“I'll tell you what, why don't you take a walk, and she can face those consequences right here and now?” Dean suggested.

“She's ours,” Mick said, shaking his head. “We'll take care of her. Now, I'm here to extend an olive branch. We want to work with you.”

“Let me ask you a question, uh, Mick is it? Why would we believe any of this?” Sam said acidly, speaking up for the first time since Cas had entered the room.

Mick gave a wry grin. “Lads...if I wasn't sincere, if I meant you harm, there's a dozen ways I could've come in here and taken you all prisoner instead of being unarmed. And then there’s your pet here.” he said, turning his attention to Cas. “I reckon you could finish me off without breaking a sweat. Am I right?”

“I don't sweat under any circumstances,” Cas said coldly. Mick dug around in his pockets and produced a business card. He held it out to Cas.

“My number.” Cas looked at it with distaste. He wanted to shove it away, burn it into a cinder but that probably wasn’t smart. He grudgingly accepted it and tried to ignore the urge to crush it in his fingers. “Take your time, cool down, and just think it over. And what have you got to lose, except your worst nightmares?” He nodded to them all and then pushed Lady Bevell ahead of him up the basement stairs. Cas watched them leave.

“What, that’s it?” Dean said angrily. “We’re just gonna let them walk out of here?”

“Dean,” Mary said, putting her hand on his arm. “We’re in no position to take them on right now. We’re outnumbered and outgunned.”

“There’s only two of them,” Dean objected.

“That we see,” Mary said, shaking her head. “For all we know the place is surrounded. And they have got some serious mojo. They’re letting us go. Let’s take it.”

Dean’s shoulders slumped. “All right.”

Cas knelt down beside Sam to inspect his injuries. He was shocked by the amount of damage Lady Bevell had managed to inflict. The burns to his feet were the most severe. Without his healing touch, Sam would have been barely able to walk for weeks. Other cuts and abrasions, including rope marks on his wrists and ankles made him want to jump up and run after the two Brits but Mary was right. They needed to regroup and figure out how much of a threat the Men of Letters were. Sam was tense as he performed his examination and Cas was aware suddenly of the odor he’d been unable to recognize earlier. Now he was closer to Sam it was unmistakable and completely out of place. He met Sam’s gaze and his young friend flushed with shame, turning his head away. So this Lady Bevell had inflicted psychological wounds as well as physical. He felt vaguely nauseous. He touched two fingers to Sam’s head and watched Sam’s face relax as his Grace healed the hunter’s wounds. Sam got to his feet and clapped a hand on Cas’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” he said. Cas nodded to him and moved on to Mary, who gave him a grateful smile as he soothed the pain in her throat. And then he turned to Dean, who in typical fashion waved him off.

“I’m OK,” he said. Cas leveled a look at him and stepped into his personal space, grabbing the hunter’s arm and holding him as he healed the injuries Dean had acquired. He would never admit this to anyone because it wasn’t like he wanted Dean to get hurt, but he loved healing him. Sam would give him a smile and a thank you. Mary had been similarly graceful. But Dean’s reaction was very different. His pupils would dilate as Cas’s Grace swept through him, and his cheeks would pink a little. His breathing would get a little more rapid and the angel’s celestial hearing could hear his heart rate increase. Through the bond they shared Cas would feel a riot of complex emotions that even now he didn’t really understand. But they made him feel good, and afterward he would feel a glow inside that would not fade for hours. Dean cleared his throat and Cas let his arm drop.

“Come on,” Dean croaked. “Let’s hit the road.”

* * *

 

Cas watched as Mary produced the pie and Dean’s eyes lit up. He was a man of simple pleasures. Sam nudged him under the table, giving him a significant look he couldn’t interpret. He blinked, startled and schooled his face into a more neutral expression.

“So,” Mary said, leaning back in her chair and taking a swig from her beer bottle. “Castiel, you said you had something to tell us.”

“Yes,” Cas said, eying the Winchesters cautiously. “I didn’t exactly find that farm all by myself,” he admitted. “I had help.”

“Help?” Dean mumbled through a mouthful of pie.

“Do you remember Becky Rosen?” Cas said. Sam went rigid and Dean dropped his spoon with a clatter. Mary looked between her two boys, clearly alarmed at their reaction. Cas couldn’t blame them but he had hoped they wouldn’t be so dramatic.

“Who is she?” she demanded.

Sam gave a sigh. “It’s a long story. But you remember we told you that we knew this prophet who actually turned out to be God?”

“Yeah,” Mary agreed. “You said he was calling himself Chuck.”

“Well, he dated this girl for a while who was a big fan of the books he wrote.” Sam explained. “Later, she uh, drugged me and tricked me into marrying her.” Mary’s face was thunderous and Cas was again reminded of the similarity between Dean and his mother.

“It was a demon,” Dean said quickly, trying to head off Mary’s temper. “He fooled her into thinking the potion would reveal Sam’s inner feelings.”

“I don’t care,” Mary asserted. “She should know better.”

Sam was shifting uncomfortably and mindful of what he’d discovered about the nature of some of the torture he’d been subjected to in the farmhouse, Cas decided they needed to move the conversation on. “I met her in town when I was looking for where they’d taken Sam. She gave me the lead I needed to find the farm.”

“Explain to me why you were even listening to her,” Dean said.

“Because even though we’ve never met, she knew who and what I was,” Cas said patiently. “She claimed that she works for someone called Orison and she gave me this map.” He pulled out the printout Becky had given him and handed it to Sam. “And she depowered the wards to allow me to enter the farmhouse.”

“She did what!” Dean yelped.

“It seems she has fallen in with someone very knowledgeable.” Cas agreed.

Sam was staring at the paper, a printout from Google Maps centered on the farm. He was narrowing his eyes at it and concentrating very hard. Cas wondered what it was that caught his attention.

“Wait, what did you say this guy was called?” he said, lifting his head.

“Orison,” Cas replied. “It’s almost certainly a pseudonym.”

“Huh,” Sam said and reached for his laptop. He began tapping away at it and Dean shifted in his seat impatiently.

“What is it, Sam?”

“So there’s this subreddit, TheRoadhouse, where a bunch of hunters hang out. We swap tips and tell stories. Nobody uses their real name, but I know who a few of them are. A couple of years ago this guy, using the username Orison, started posting. At first he would just put up anything that looked like a case. We’ve looked into a couple of them actually.”

“Yeah?” Dean said.

“The Soul Eaters, that was one of his. And the Nachzehrer.” Sam told him.

“The what now?”

“You called them ghoul-pires,” Cas reminded Dean, who grinned.

“Oh, them.” He scratched his stubble as he thought. “So, who is he?”

“Orison?” Sam said. “No idea. Like I say, he turned up on the subreddit about two years ago. Started posting cases and asking hunters to investigate. Then he started helping with research. He’s even got a bunch of phones set up for confirming back stories, you know how Bobby used to?”

“So, you’re saying he’s the new Bobby?” Dean said, thrusting his jaw out pugnaciously. Cas carefully reached out and placed a hand on Dean’s arm under the table and was rewarded with the hunter backing down a little.

“I’m saying after Garth… left the life, nobody was doing that stuff and eventually someone was going to come along and fill that void.” Sam said quellingly.

“But you have no idea who he is?” Mary interjected. “I knew Bobby Singer, he was a good man. Knew a lot and everyone trusted him. I don’t know this Garth, but you all knew him. You knew he was on the level. This Orison guy? Nobody knows who he is, except maybe this Becky chick. I don’t like it.”

“Agreed,” Dean said. “A hunter, using a fake name. Nobody knows him? Nobody even knows what he is.” He shook his head.

“No hunter uses his real name online, and he seems to know his lore,” Sam defended. “I don’t understand why you’re so suspicious.”

“Let’s just say that someone who hides as well as this guy, has something _to_ hide,” Mary said. Dean clinked his beer bottle with hers in solidarity.

“And then there’s Becky,” he added.

“She was quite different to how you described her,” Cas observed. “You said she was giggly and silly. The woman I met was serious and intelligent.”

“Maybe it wasn’t really her,” Sam suggested. “Maybe somebody else was using her name because they knew we’d recognize it.”

“Perhaps,” Cas agreed. But Becky had not seemed like she was lying, at least not about her name.

 

* * *

It was late, and the bunker was quiet. If he wanted to, Cas could hear the sounds of Sam and Dean sleeping. But it seemed like Mary was still up. He wandered into the library to see her head bowed over John’s journal. Cas was perfectly capable of moving silently but he didn’t want to startle her so he deliberately scraped his shoes so that she would hear him. She looked up and smiled tiredly at him.

“Castiel,” she greeted him. “What are you doing up?”

“Oh, I’m always up,” Cas informed her. “Angels don't need sleep.”

Mary blinked in surprise and then looked down at the journal again. “Wish I had the problem,” she said ruefully. Cas walked towards her and she sighed, closing the journal and standing up. The angel concealed his frown. She wasn’t very comfortable around him at the best of times, and it was worse when he reminded her he wasn’t human. “Anyway...I think I'll go try again,” she said.  “Wish me luck.”

“Luck,” Cas said seriously. Mary paused and turned to look at him.

“Castiel? After you left heaven, when did it start to feel like...like you fit, like you...belonged here?” she asked. A strange pricking sensation started at the back of Cas’s eyes as he considered her question.

“Well I'm still not sure I do,” he offered. She gave a small sigh and turned away to leave. “Mary...you _do_ belong here.” Her smile broadened and she nodded.

“Goodnight, Castiel.”

He stood there for a while, thinking about that strange exchange. Then his attention was grabbed by his phone buzzing. He retrieved it from his coat and opened the text message that had arrived. The number was unfamiliar.

_Cleveland, Ohio. Check out the police reports._

Dean had left his laptop on the table and Cas quickly logged in. He was no computer expert, and had not been lying when he’d told Mary he didn’t trust them. But he could use Google, and that might be enough. Sure enough, it didn’t take much searching to find a police report about a man with glowing red eyes.

“Lucifer,” he hissed.

The man opposite him looked both confused and distracted and he smelled like he’d been drinking heavily. How on earth did Sam and Dean get any useful information out of witnesses, Cas wondered.

“Look...I’ve been around all stripes of Vince, all right? Drunk Vince, depressed Vince, megalomaniacal ‘I'm a Golden God’ Vince. The Vince who threw me through that door...that wasn't him. And it wasn't just his eyes, man. I-I mean, the strength. He was like – He was like an MMA fighter. Hell, he was like twenty.” He shivered in fear and Cas felt some stirring of sympathy.

“If you hear from him, don't hesitate to call,” he said, handing over a card.

Tommy turned it over in his hands doubtfully. “Okay, Agent...Beyonce?”

Cas stood and walked out, and as he passed a man at the bar he heard a familiar voice. A voice he wished he never had to hear again.

“I guess that makes me Agent Jay Z,” Crowley was saying. Cas stopped dead and glared at the King of Hell, unable to keep his fury off his face. The demon gave him a cheeky smile. Determined not to make a scene, Cas turned on his heel and strode out the door as quickly as he could. He heard Crowley get up and follow him and sighed in frustration as the demon began chattering away about teaming up to defeat Lucifer.

“Come on. Bumping into each other, working the same leads. What are the odds, Cassie? Fate brought us together.” Crowley told him, putting one hand on his arm. Cas shook him off.

“I'm not interested.”

“Why not?” Crowley demanded. “We made a somewhat effective team against Amara. It's been months, I mean _months_ since we last tried to kill each other. We both got very, very good reasons to want Lucifer dead.”

Cas turned and leaned against the truck, looking Crowley up and down. “So you weren’t the one who tipped me off?” He hadn’t really thought so, but he wanted to be sure.

“What? No. What are you talking about?” Crowley said.

“I got a text message,” Cas said, resigned. He called it up on his phone and handed it to Crowley, who read it aloud. A line appeared between the demon’s eyebrows.

“I swear, I didn’t send this to you,” he said.

“Then who did?” Cas asked. “I dislike being led around by the nose.”

“No,” Crowley agreed. “You much prefer being led by other body parts.” Cas didn’t know what he was implying but it was probably insulting. “Look, while you were gabbing with Vince's second fiddle, I was ransacking his room. Found these.” He waved some colored pieces of card at Cas. “Postcards from his beloved sister Wendy. Oh, lookie here. An address and everything. Worth a look.” Crowley handed the cards over to Cas, who snatched them and flicked through them. Much as he hated to admit it, it was a better lead than he’d managed to dig up.

“All right,” he said reluctantly. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Crowley watched Castiel with amusement as the angel used the truck mirror to check his hair and fix a few errant strands. Since when did the angel get so vain? Crowley was reminded uncomfortably of Lucifer in that moment and not for the first time he wondered if housing the archangel for so long had rubbed off on Castiel somewhat. He certainly seemed different to how Crowley remembered him. Harder, colder and more irritable. He raised an eyebrow at the angel when he finally looked up.

They knocked on the door and smiled politely at the tired-looking blonde woman who answered.

“Hello. I'm Agent Beyonce, and this is my, um...my partner, Agent Zee,” Castiel told her. “Um, we wanted to ask you a few questions about your bro…” The door slammed in their faces. “ ...ther.” The angel looked at Crowley in chagrin. “Do you think that happens to Sam and Dean?”

Crowley rolled his eyes at him. “Oh, all the time,” he snarked and vanished. Inside the house, he saw Wendy on the phone, her voice low and urgent.

“...federal agents asking for you. Don't know what was with you yesterday, but you're in trouble.”

“How right you are, Wendy,” Crowley said with a smirk and she dropped the phone and gave a shriek. Ignoring her histrionics, Crowley sauntered across the room and opened the front door to Castiel, who glared at him. “Ah. So...Vince was here. Yesterday.” Crowley said, ignoring the grumpy angel. Castiel moved past him and peered at Wendy.

“Odd,” he remarked. “She's been recently healed.”

Crowley felt his eyes widen as intuition dawned. “Is that so? Let me guess – your brother got you up and walking again. And how are you enjoying the use of those legs? You know, the gift he gave you, I can take away like --” He lifted his hand to snap his fingers but Castiel’s hand closed over his and clamped down hard. His bones creaked and he winced. Again, this was way more heavy-handed than the old Castiel. He wondered vaguely if he should mention it to Dean.

“The thing that healed you, that wasn't your brother. Something...something else, something old and evil.” Castiel told Wendy. “I...I think a part of you knows that. We don't want to hurt Vince. We want to help him.” Wendy stared at him for a moment, and Crowley thought she might burst into tears. But then she nodded.

“He showed up out of the blue and he fixed me like a miracle. But he did it cold, like...it was nothing to him.” She looked down at herself and shivered. “Like he was running an errand. Barely said a word. And then he just took off with his groupie friend.”

“His groupie friend?” Castiel seized on that like a dog with a bone.

“Red-headed broad. Didn't say much.”

Castiel turned to face Crowley, his face furious. Crowley gulped and looked down at the ground. Busted.

“Thank you, Wendy,” Castiel said. “We’ll be in touch.” He stalked out the door and Crowley hurried after him.

“So Vince's cabin in Sagamore Hills...apparently, all of his greatest records were written there -- ‘Serpentine,’ ‘Theatre of Mercy’…” he babbled.

Castiel turned burning eyes on him. “I should've known there was something you weren't telling me. Rowena?”

“So mother and I had an unfortunate, if not rather embarrassing, run-in with Lucifer,” Crowley admitted. “You're just mad because you're only my second choice for a Lucifer-hunt team-up.”

“No, actually I think it's sweet. I thought your motivation was ambition and revenge, but now I know you just wanna save your mother,” Cas said sarcastically. Cold fear ran down Crowley’s spine. He’d been suspicious before but now he was certain. There was something very strange going on with Castiel. Had the Winchesters had noticed that something strange was going on with their resident angel? He considered it and dismissed the thought. If they hadn’t noticed Lucifer creeping around in Castiel’s vessel in the first place, for that matter if Dean hadn’t noticed Castiel’s… singular focus on him, then clearly those two chuckleheads weren’t going to notice anything this subtle. He sighed to himself, it was a puzzle for another day.

“It's not about saving her,” he retorted. “Lucifer has made off with a colossally powerful witch who, by the way, is the only person alive who can slam him back in the cage. He will either kill her, control her, or she will offer her services to the biggest bad in town in order to save her neck like she always does. Do any of those sound like particularly good outcomes to you?”

Castiel’s hard gaze wavered and he shook his head.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Becky placed the cup of tea in front of Orison and waited expectantly. After a few moments of hoping she would just go away, he looked up at her and then sat back, shoving the laptop to one side.

“Do you need something?” he snapped. He had an unpleasant feeling she was going to ask a question he did not want to answer.

“No. I just… Why did we do this?” she said hesitantly.

“What, tip-off Castiel?” Orison shrugged, trying to seem relaxed, and ran a hand through his soft, chestnut hair. Becky’s fingers twitched. “I owe the Men of Letters a few disappointments.”

“Oh,” she said. “Then it wasn’t about Sam Winchester?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth Orison could see she wished she could retract them. He stiffened and he could feel his face was hardening.

“We’ve had this conversation before, Becky,” he growled at her.

“I know,” she said, looking disappointed.

He did not have time for this right now. Dismissing her with a wave of his hand, he said, “I have to post this case. Look upstairs for the Gospel of Apelles, will you? I need it to answer a question on the forum.”

She sniffed unhappily but did not push it further. He ignored her and returned to his work.

 

* * *

 

Sam scanned the list of new posts on TheRoadhouse subreddit. He told himself he was just looking for a new case, or a lead on Lucifer but when he saw the post entitled “Demons in Mason City?” with Orison’s flair attached to it, he couldn’t resist.

_Classic demon case here, Roadies. Or is it? A woman shows up at her church bearing all the signs of stigmata. But then she’s apparently whipped by an invisible force and begins speaking in tongues. Check out the story in the local paper:_ [ _http://www.masoncitymessenger.com/story/news/crime/2016/09/25/woman-dies-church-stigmata/94417664/_ ](http://www.masoncitymessenger.com/story/news/crime/2016/09/25/woman-dies-church-stigmata/94417664/)

_That’s all I’ve got for now. I’ll update when I’ve done a bit more research._

Sam clicked the link to the newspaper article, but it didn’t have any more information than was in Orison’s post. Dean ambled into the room at that point, sipping coffee and holding a danish in his left hand.

“Hey, where’d the pastry come from?” Sam asked.

“I went out and filled up the car. They were selling boxes of them in the gas station. There’s still some left in the kitchen,” Dean mumbled around his full mouth. He nodded at the laptop screen. “Anything interesting?”

“Not sure,” Sam hedged. He summarized the case to Dean, who nodded and listened but his face was sour. “OK, it’s a little thin. But we’ve gone after thinner. So what’s the problem?”

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “I’m not sure I’m as interested in the case as finding out who this Orison guy is.” He dropped into a chair and gave Sam a direct look.

“I can see that,” Sam said. “Why have you got it in for him anyway?”

“Nobody gets the drop on Cas. But he knew exactly where to find him, and sent Becky with a message that conveniently told us where you were being held and gave her the power to take down those wards.” Dean replied. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if Sam was going to be receptive to his theory. “I think he wants us to find him.”

“I don’t agree,” Sam admitted. “If he wanted us to find him, why play games?”

“I don’t know. We don’t even know if it really was Becky,” Dean said. “But if it was, I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Has anyone met him? What about the other hunters on the forum?”

Sam shook his head. “No. He’s a complete enigma. A few of them have spoken to him on the phone, but there’s no clue there. He didn’t have a distinctive accent or unusual voice. There’s even a speculation thread about him, believe it or not.”

“I don’t suppose any of the theories sound plausible?” Dean said hopefully.

“Not that I can see,” Sam replied. “Well, OK, that’s not quite true. Like I say, he knows a Hell of a lot of lore. So much so that there have been theories that maybe he’s not human. That would explain why he’s determined to stay hidden and how he knows so much.”

“A monster, helping hunters slay other monsters?” Dean said incredulously.

“Is it that unbelievable?” Sam asked. Dean’s mouth pursed and he knew he’d made his point. “But there’s no real evidence. It’s just idle talk.”

“And assuming it is the Becky Rosen, how did she get tangled up with this guy?” Dean asked the very question that had been bugging Sam since Cas had first described his encounter with her.

“That’s a good question,” Sam agreed.

“I’ll be honest, Sam. I’m getting a seriously creepy vibe about this.”

“Why?” Sam asked. “I mean, I’m not exactly thrilled he was able to track Cas down even if it did mean you found me. But, so far no harm no foul.”

“I can’t explain it,” Dean said finally. He scrutinized Sam for a few moments, long enough to make Sam more than a little uncomfortable. “Have you been in contact with him directly?” he asked.

Sam blinked in surprise. “He’s answered a few questions I’ve posted on the subreddit. But we’ve never corresponded or spoken on the phone.”

“Why not try and draw him out?” Dean suggested and Sam almost swallowed his tongue.

“How?”

“See if he can get a bead on Lucifer. Let’s see how good he really is.” Sam shook his head. “Why not?”

“Because if I start posting about Lucifer being loose on the world again, people are going to freak. And if they think we’re responsible, we’ll be fighting off hunters every step of the way.”

“I didn’t mean come right out and say it,” Dean defended. “Surely there’s something you could post that would only mean something to someone really knowledgeable.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sam said. But privately he thought it would be a mistake.

 

* * *

 

“Magda will be OK, you know,” Dean said, giving Sam a friendly shove as the bus pulled away to take her to her new life. “She seems like a good kid.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed but he didn’t seem happy. Dean hated being the one to force the issue but Sam seemed disturbed and there was no obvious reason why.

“What’s up?”  he asked.

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted. “It’s just a general… bad feeling.”

“Not one of your psychic visions again?” Dean said jokingly, ignoring the squirming feeling in his gut. “Magda didn’t rub off on you did she?”

“What? It’s not like the flu, Dean,” Sam said impatiently. “No, this is more like instinct, you know. Like we’re being watched.” He looked around cautiously. “And sometimes, it’s like someone’s listening.”

Dean’s senses went on full alert. “It’s not impossible,” he said. “Those Brits could be spying on us. Have you seen anyone suspicious?”

Sam shook his head. “No. It’s more nebulous than that. I can’t explain it. But maybe we could sweep the car for bugs? Remember the time Crowley spied on us that way with an enchanted coin?”

“I’d forgotten about that,” Dean said, feeling stupid. “We can do a sweep, that’s a good idea. We’ve been letting that kind of thing slide. But let me know if you get any more of these feelings, OK?”

“Yeah, OK,” Sam agreed. He watched as his brother leaned his head against the car window, letting the motion lull him into a doze. Dean’s mouth pursed with concern. He needed to talk to Cas, ASAP.

 

* * *

 

Back at the bunker, there was still no sign of the angel. Dean sighed and roused Sam, sending him off to bed before grabbing a bottle of bourbon and a glass. He poured in a generous measure and toasted himself before taking a large mouthful.

Pulling out his phone, he sent a quick text to his mom, and as an afterthought, an invite to play Words with Friends. She’d always enjoyed crosswords and other puzzles as he remembered, so maybe she’d get a kick out of that. He opened his laptop to log into Reddit. It took him only a few moments to find the subreddit Sam had alluded to. He browsed a few posts, laughing at some of the anecdotes and even answered a question about skinwalkers. Eventually, he found what he was looking for, another post by Orison. It was a few months old and was referring to a strange case in Connecticut.

_Check this out, Roadies. Gotta weird one for you. There’s an old religious theme park out near Waterbury, CT - the Holy Land USA. Closed back in the 80’s. It was a not very accurate recreation of 1st C Jerusalem. Anyway, 2 kids went missing from Waterbury and were found crucified on crosses in the park. See_ [ _http://www.waterburytimes.com/node/2394_ ](http://www.waterburytimes.com/node/2394) _. Sounds like a serial killer except for a couple of things._

  1. _The coroner can’t figure out how they died. There are marks of switches on their hands and buttocks but these were not the cause of death._
  2. _The victims didn’t know each other and disappeared from their homes around the same time. Nobody knows how the killer got the kids out of their homes, there were no signs of forced entry, all doors and windows locked._



Nobody had ever responded to the post and Dean wondered if it had ever been checked out. He hesitated for a moment and then typed a quick comment.

_Did anyone ever look into this?_

He went back to browsing the latest posts but it didn’t take long before he saw Orison had responded to his message.

_Hey JimmyPageIsGod,_

_Luthersfool81 and WendigoBandit headed up there to see what was what. They never reported back. I figure whatever monster’s responsible for the kids' deaths got them too, but if it did, it was real subtle about it._

_Without more information, it’s hard to know for sure what’s going on. And there haven’t been any more killings. I’ll keep an eye on it and keep you posted._

Dean grimaced and logged off. Whoever he was, this Orison was certainly giving off all the vibes of being a white hat. He finished off his drink and pulled out his phone. Two rings and then Cas answered in a strangely breathy tone.

“Dean.”

“Hey, Cas. You busy?”

“Yes,” the angel said. “Well, no. We’re on a stakeout.”

“We? You and Crowley are on a stakeout? Sounds like fun.” Dean couldn’t contain his mirth at the idea of the angel and the demon in a car together, irritating the Hell out of each other.

“It is not fun,” Cas said witheringly. “What do you need?”

“OK, look, Sam’s having some weird… instincts.” He heard Cas’s indrawn breath. “Not visions, nothing like that but, I’m worried, man. We met this psychic kid, don’t know if she was one of old yellow-eyes’, but it’s got me on edge.”

“Of course,” Cas said sympathetically and Dean found himself feeling better already. “I think you’re overreacting, but I understand why. I can look into it when I get back.”

“OK. OK, that would be good,” Dean said. He thought for a moment, not wanting to explore why he wanted to keep Cas on the line. “You OK?”

“I’m fine,” Cas assured him. “I’ll be in touch as soon as we have news. Sleep well, Dean.” He hung up and Dean stared at his phone for a moment. Cas probably didn’t want Crowley listening in to their conversation, but he was a little put out at how abrupt the angel had been. He sighed and refilled his glass.

 

* * *

 

Mary entered the kitchen and made straight for the bourbon, pouring a couple of fingers into a glass and sitting down opposite her son.

“Talk to me, Dean,” she instructed. He looked away. “Dean.”

“Look, it’s just Sam and his weird feelings. It’s probably nothing. It’s just… he’s had nothing. Not a twitch of a vision or anything in years. And then we run into a psychic, maybe one of old yellow-eyes brood and suddenly he’s getting ‘instincts’? I don’t trust it.”

“Then don’t,” Mary said easily. “But unless he actually starts behaving strangely, maybe it’s nothing more than he says it is.” She sipped at her drink and looked thoughtful. “You wanted to talk to Castiel about it.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” she replied. “I’m just beginning to understand how much you rely on him, that’s all.”

“He’s my best friend,” Dean told her. “He’s practically another brother to me.”

“Another brother, is it?” Mary said, sounding amused. She didn’t dispute the point so Dean wasn’t sure why it was making him defensive anyway.

“We’ve been through a lot together,” he said. “I’d do almost anything for him.”

“No, I get it, I do,” Mary said. “It’s just… well, he’s not human, Dean.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that. His motives, his understanding of the world, even his emotional states are totally alien.” She grabbed his hands and stared into his eyes. “I’m not saying don’t trust him. You obviously can trust him and he clearly cares a great deal about you. And Sam. I’m just saying, you can’t pretend he’s something he’s not.”

“He’s my best friend,” Dean repeated.

“I know,” Mary said sadly. He wished he understood where she was coming from. “You do know I love you, that I’ll always love you? No matter what.”

Dean felt the vague stirrings of alarm. “Is something the matter?” When she didn’t answer, he swore. “You’re leaving.”

“Thinking about it,” she corrected. “I haven’t made a decision.”

“Dammit, why?”

“Dean, try and understand. I was in Heaven, where I was happily married to a man I loved and who loved me, and I had two sweet little boys who were my entire world. And then I was ripped out of there and dumped here. The world has changed since I’ve been gone. My loving husband went mad with grief and turned himself and my boys into hunters, something I desperately wanted to avoid. And you and Sam, you’re men. All those years I missed--” She broke off and shook her head before swallowing her drink. “It’s just a lot to take in. And you want me to be this apple pie mom that I never was in real life. Don’t you understand? It’s tearing me apart!”

Dean just stared at her, dumbstruck. All his life, he’d have given anything to have his mom back again. And now she was saying she didn’t want him, didn’t want to be part of his life? He didn’t know what to say.

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Dean said, turning the laptop around on the kitchen table. “Check this out.”

Sam gave his brother a side-eyed glance. Dean had been angry when their mom had announced her decision to leave, and this was the most civil he’d been in two days. He leaned forward and squinted at the article on the screen from a small newspaper in Pennsylvania.

“Centralia Fire Worsens Again,” he read. He vaguely remembered Centralia was a ghost town where a mine fire had started sometime back in the sixties and continued to burn even to this day. How this was interesting to Dean was unclear. “So?”

“So, read the article,” Dean said impatiently. He got up and started pacing, sipping at his coffee and watching Sam. Sam poked his tongue out at his brother and then turned to read the article.

“CENTRALIA, PA. Today, Luke Green, a geologist with the Pennsylvania Department of Environmental Protection, said that temperatures in monitoring boreholes have increased significantly in the last month in direct contradiction with the reports over the last few years. The PDEP is concerned that after a period of relative tranquility, the fire is beginning to intensify again and that blaze may pose a threat to nearby areas. Recent electrical storms related to the current heat wave are being posited as a possible source of additional ignition, as wildfires have swept through the county.”

“OK,”, Sam said slowly. “I don’t understand what’s so interesting.”

“Click the next tab,” Dean instructed.

“ASHLAND, PA. Authorities say they have no leads in the recent spate of cattle mutilations which have plagued the county over the past month. Ashland Sheriff Joe Chapman says that despite an extensive police operation including surveillance and an anonymous tips line, they have very little evidence and no new leads and are making a fresh appeal to the public to report anything that might help lead to an arrest.”

Sam frowned and without prompting, switched to the final tab.

“MT CARMEL, PA. The FBI today reported that they were making a fresh appeal for witnesses to the mysterious deaths of six teenagers after a school football game last Thursday. Special Agent Rachel Wiggs told reporters that all autopsies were now complete but that the coroner had been unable to establish a cause of death. The students were all attending a post-game celebration at the home of celebrated Mt Carmel High School quarterback, Joel Winterbourne when neighbors reported screaming. Seventeen-year-old Misty Morgan, the only survivor of the night’s events, remains in a permanent catatonic state and doctors say they have no idea if she will ever recover. Her mother, Councilwoman Alicia Morgan told this reporter that she had arranged for Misty to be transferred to a clinic in Switzerland for an experimental treatment but that she did not expect Misty to be talking anytime soon.”

“Cattle mutilations, mysterious deaths and a curious intensifying of the Centralia Mine Fire. Demonic omens? You think this is Lucifer?”

“Maybe,” Dean said. “Cas and Crowley were trailing him in Ohio. Pennsylvania’s right next door.”

“It’s a big state,” Sam pointed out. “You wanna go check it out? It’s at least a twenty-hour drive.”

“Yeah, well, I’m tired of sitting around with my thumb up my ass,” Dean said wearily. “Now, let’s get going!”

Sam stared after him as Dean stomped out of the kitchen. He really wasn’t sure there was a case here but it was better if Dean redirected his aggression into a case that turned out to be nothing than taking it out on Sam.

 

* * *

 

Becky placed the tray on the table next to Orison and he looked at it disdainfully. Grilled fish, vegetables and a baked potato steamed merrily on a plate. He didn’t want any of it.

“I’m not hungry,” he said childishly.

She put her hands on her hips. “You’ve barely eaten today,” she chided him. “You can’t live like this.”

“Get me some candy, then we’ll talk,” he said grumpily.

“Eat some proper food and then you can have one candy bar,” she bargained.

“One!”

“Yes, one. You know the drill by now. If you sit around eating candy all day you’ll get fat and all your teeth will rot out of your head.” Her face softened. “I know it’s hard. But you’ve been so good. Why are you backsliding now?”

He glared at her. “You know why.”

She sighed, shaking her head in sympathy. “Nobody understands better than me. You know that. Now, eat.”

Grumbling he shoved his laptop aside and grabbed the tray. He stabbed a piece of broccoli and stuffed it into his mouth whole. Becky laughed at him and then stood, collecting a mug from the table in front of him.

“Aren’t you eating?” Orison asked her indistinctly through a mouthful of food.

“Of course,” she told him. “But I ate lunch so it’s a bit early for me. I’ll make something later.”

He chewed contemplatively for a moment. “Is there anything else?”

“No,” she said slowly. “Well, maybe. It’s about Castiel.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “He followed the lead you sent him. Seems he met an old friend who’s on the same trail.”

“Castiel doesn’t have old friends,” Orison told her. “Who was it?”

“My source didn’t know,” Becky said. “Some British guy with a beard.”

“That’s not much information,” Orison sighed. “Tell your source to get a photo. Or I don’t know, draw me a picture. Something. I need data, Becky.”

“On it,” she said.

 

* * *

 

As they drove past the aging, slightly run-down cemetery, Sam craned his neck to see if he could detect any signs of the mine fire.

“You’d never know there was anything going on here,” he commented.

Dean waved a hand at a side road that was unlabeled and any road markings were long gone. “Except, that road doesn’t exactly look well-maintained.”

“Yeah, but you see that all the time in small towns. Especially in mining towns all over the US. The industry’s dying and the towns that grew up around it are dying too.” Sam said.

“And this is town’s dying more than most, but other than pavement, there’s not much else to see.”

“What’s that up ahead?” Sam asked, pointing to a small square building as they approached.

“That must be the municipal building,” Dean said. There was a motorcycle outside with a For Sale sign on it. “Huh. You wouldn’t think they’d get much passing traffic.” Dean pulled the Impala into the lot in front of the building. They got out and walked up to the door. A handmade sign said “Geologist on duty: Luke Green. 360-555-3837.” The door was locked. Dean looked at it for a moment. “Worth breaking in?”

“I doubt it,” Sam said. “The geologist is probably out doing his readings.”

“OK, what now?”

“I think the church is this way,” Sam said, peering at his phone and pointing.

“You wanna go to church?” Dean said in surprise.

“No, but it seems to be one of the few buildings still standing. Maybe there’ll be someone there.”


End file.
